


The Tide Walks with Me

by pancake_potch



Category: The Walking Dead, Twin Peaks
Genre: AU, Bethyl Big Bang, Black Lodge, F/M, it's the 90's, twin peaks/ walking dead, weird stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancake_potch/pseuds/pancake_potch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merle and Daryl venture to the Pacific Northwest for a big time hookup to have an opportunity to sell coke back in Georgia. He stumbles across a pretty waitress named Beth, who is the target of a possessed man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tide Walks with Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was my submission for tumblr’s Bethyl Big Bang. I took a lot of liberty with the Twin Peaks universe. It was really hard to pick and choose what to add and still make it coherent to someone who’s not familiar.

Gray. It’s shifting shades of gray. Gray and green. The sky, the land. Daryl had never been so far north before.  North or West. Truthfully, he had never left the state of Georgia.  It rains in Georgia, sure. But, it doesn’t rain like up here. Up here where it rains and rains, and it’s _cold,_ unlike the humid Georgia rains. Even the atmosphere is different, too. It’s not the weighty, stifling air but a crisp and breathtaking air.  His truck window is rolled down so he can smoke, and the wind is bringing with it an _electric_ feeling. His arms prickle at the breeze, but it doesn’t make him cold as it does uncomfortable.

 

Daryl shifts in his seat, trying to pinpoint his uneasy feeling.  Merle has his eyes closed, boots on the dash, having long since abandoned his bike to the back of the truck since they’ve entered the Pacific Northwest.

 

He rolls that name around in his mind. _Pacific Northwest._ It sounds like tales of Lewis and Clark, or Indian princesses, of tall evergreens and salmon. Foreign. 

 

He broken from his thoughts as Merle moans and rights himself.  “Twin Peaks? We almost there, right?”

 

“Mhhh.”  Daryl grunts in agreement, having past the sign for the turnoff minutes ago.

 

Merle digs into his pocket and pulls out a cylinder of coke.  Attached to the lid is a tiny spoon, which Merle fills twice, one for each nostril.

 

“Whooooo, sheeit.  That’s it!”  He wipes his nose before sitting up straight and turning to Daryl. “Place called the RR Diner. Call my man when we get there.” Merle claps his hands a couple times in anticipation as Daryl ignores him.

 

They drive through, and directly off the road he spots the diner Merle was talking about.  He pulls into the parking lot, noticing the ominous fir covered mountain in the distance.  As he steps out, there’s still that electricity in the air and something about this place is _wrong_.  He doesn’t know what, exactly.  He tries to shrug it off.  It has to be being in a different place, a place so far and different from home. He’s no longer a child, trying to find comfort in the familiar.  He’s a grown man, and it shouldn’t matter where he is.

 

“I gotta call my man.  Meetcha inside,” Merle says, clearly dismissing him. Daryl sighs at him and when he walks into the diner, there’s a jazzy tune playing on the juke and he positions himself at the counter, taking his surroundings in.  It’s familiar enough, just like any other diner anywhere else. He glances around at the other patrons. There’s an older man in a military uniform sitting across from a teenage boy in the booth.  A few sporadic patrons are here and there. A man in a suit sits to his left at the counter.  Drifting behind the counter and around the place are waitresses.  Daryl counts four, all blonde and all in the same dusty blue uniforms. The color reminds him of the brief glance he had at the Pacific Ocean.  This ocean is nothing like the one at home, calm and bright blue. This ocean is gray and blue and tumultuous.

 

His mind is clear, unlike Merle’s, but he senses an internal clock wind down inside him.  This place makes him feel weighted and dulled.  The fluorescent lights overhead flicker, and he listens the tinny sound of the grill in back being cleaned.  

 

“Get you something to drink?”

 

Daryl almost physically jerks out of his thoughts because there’s a small blonde woman standing in front of him, plastic menu in hand. He almost can’t find words. She’s the realist thing here, smile on her face and the biggest blue eyes he’s ever seen.

 

He clears his throat, “Coffee?”

 

“Sure thing.”  She turns, and he’s caught up in that uniform.  He’s not leering, or anything.  It’s not a sexual desire that implores him to continue staring. It’s something else. She’s so small, and the way the skirt half moves around her is like the tide of that ocean, ebbing and flowing around her small hips.  She fills a mug and makes her way back towards him.

 

“You ready to order?”

 

Daryl glances down at the menu in his hand he doesn’t remember picking up.  He picks the first thing he sees.  “Uh, pie?”

 

She gives a little giggle, “What kind? We got marionberry, huckleberry, cherry-“

 

“Cherry’s fine, “ he interrupts. He doesn’t really want to eat, but he doesn’t know how long Merle will be either.  His abruptness doesn’t seem to faze her; because she tells him she’ll be back in a second.

 

“You made a fine choice, Traveller!”

 

The voice to his left grabs his attention. It’s the man in the suit, his hair slicked back.  Daryl narrows his eyes, simply because someone has acknowledged his presence, something he doesn’t want. The suited man doesn’t appear to register Daryl’s glare because he continues.  Turning on his stool, he faces Daryl.

 

“From your brief interaction with this waitress, I’m guessing you are merely a traveller through these parts,” he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.  “From the southern portion of our fine country!!  Well…have you got a real treat in store.  This pie,” he looks down at his own plate and smiles, “this pie…is _magnificent_.”

 

Daryl doesn’t have time to reply because the man suddenly turned his attention to the girl serving Daryl.

 

“Beth!  I would love another cup of this wonderful coffee!” 

 

“Sure thing, Agent Cooper!”  She replied as she walked to Daryl with his pie. She set it down in front of him.

 

 “You want whipped cream, or anything?”

 

Daryl shakes his head, and Beth- the waitress- smiles at him and nods.  She turns to fill this Agent Cooper’s mug again, when his attention turns to the door as the bells overhead jingles.

 

Instead of finding his brother, as he hoped, it’s two policemen who make their way over to Agent Cooper. They join the man at the counter, none paying anymore mind to him when _Beth_ leans over the counter next to him, smile still on her face. She’s pretty, he can say-hell- _beautiful,_ if he’s honest. Out of his whole ignorant, redneck life he can still recognize something pretty.

 

As she leans over, she asks, “Everything ok?”

 

Daryl dips his eyes down and only nods.

 

“There’s been a murder,“ she whispers. Her eyes dart around and she absent-mindedly shakes the bracelets on her wrist.  “Classmate of mine.  That guy’s an FBI agent,“ she nods over Agent Cooper.

 

He has no idea why she’s telling him this, but he listens still.  “She was into drugs, I think.  Her name was Laura.” Her smile that she’s worn fades into a solemn, serious look.

 

Out of nowhere Beth cocks her head and studies him. “This town…it feels like everyone’s gone crazy.  Sometimes I wish I could just leave, you know?”

 

He doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t. He just stares at her. It’s almost as if she’s asking him to whisk her away with him, but that’s stupid.  Daryl Dixon hauling off a pretty blonde Beth in his truck is stupid.  But there’s something…something about her eyes and the way they look at him, that makes him think that maybe it isn’t so far fetched.

 

Daryl is caught up in his thoughts when he realizes someone sits next to him.  There are several empty seats at the counter, and even more in the booths around them. He glances over at whoever the hell this was. It’s a woman.  It’s a gray haired woman with overly large eyeglasses.

 

“Hey, Carol!  Usual?”  Beth resumes her smile, apparently not thinking that some stranger taking up seat right next to him was anything out of the ordinary.

 

“Yes, please.”

 

Beth turns to get whatever thing this lady usually gets, and he feels that he should seek out his brother.  He realizes the pie is untouched, and the coffee barely so. He plucks out a few wrinkled bills and lays it on the table.  As he lifts himself off the stool, a hand grabs his wrist.

 

“When this kind of fire starts, it is very hard to put out. The tender boughs of innocence burn first, and the wind rises, and then all goodness is in jeopardy.”

 

The woman with the gray hair looks at him.  He yanks his arm out of her reach, ready to curse at her, when he notices she’s cradling a piece of wood that bewilders him enough to stop his words.  She seems to take no offense, and doesn’t seem to care that he does.  He can’t help but stare at her.

 

“The girl,” she says, as her eyes move sideways over to Beth. He glances over at her as she’s preparing something or other.  He tries to filter the woman’s words into something coherent, but nothing seems clear.  Is this girl in trouble, or something?

 

He decides he doesn’t know what this lady is talking about, so he ignores it the best he can and makes for the door.  He tries not to look back as he steps out to the parking lot. It’s not raining anymore, but there’s a fog around and the sky is as gray as ever. He sees Merle at the payphone, receiver on the cradle.  He’s flipping through the small phonebook, looking for something. He sees Merle tear out a page and make his way over to the truck.

 

“Sparkwood and 21,” Merle says.

 

Daryl doesn’t ask for an explanation, but simply waits.

 

“Leo, my guy.  Says he’ll meet us there in twenty minutes.”  Merle barley glances at Daryl as he makes his way to the passenger side of the truck. They pull out as Merle directs him where they need to be.

 

They get to the intersection, part of an industrial area, buildings used to process or ship the wood logged in the area.  Daryl pulls over and steps out, waiting for Merle’s guy to show.  He pulls out another cigarette, and takes in the surroundings. Although buildings surround them, it isn’t too far in the distance that the giant Douglas Firs sway in the wind. There isn’t any traffic around, and he can hear the distinct swish of the boughs.

 

They hear the low rumble of a big rig, and they watch as it pulls into an empty parking lot.  Merle glances around and saunters over to the truck.  Daryl isn’t all that eager to pursue, but he figures he’s here to watch his brother’s back. He watches as a man with a ponytail hops out. Giving them both a slight nod, he reaches onto the truck to pull out a paper sack.

 

As he hands the sack to Merle he says, “This is just a taste. Jacques- my connection over the border has more. In a few days time, I’ll introduce you.” Nothing Leo said was out of the ordinary for Daryl, but the man had an edge about him.  Leo was the quiet, dangerous type.  He was familiar enough with all brands of crazy to know that the quiet ones were often more treacherous than the loud ones.

 

Daryl’s hardly paying attention to what they’re saying, instead focusing all his attention on the blinking stoplight.  There isn’t any other traffic around, and for that he’s grateful. The last thing he wants is to fetch his brother (or himself this time) out of jail in some wet little town in the middle of nowhere.  The slamming of the big rig’s door breaks his thoughts.  They watch as Leo pulls away, going back the way he came.

 

Daryl follows Merle back to the truck, waiting to hear what the plan is. “Guy’s lettin’ us stay in some cabin of his.  Wait ‘till this Canadian is ready, meet up with him, then we haul ass back to Georgia with a coupla pounds of this shit.”

 

“Yeah? We crossin’ the border? You sure they aint gonna give us shit? How we gonna haul back a coupla pounds back, man?  They have dogs ‘n shit, right?”

 

Merle scoffs while Daryl starts the truck, “Man, you gotta stop worryin’ so much.  Promised us safe passage. Look, if we can establish a nice arrangement with this Leo fella, we aint gotta work another day in our lives!” Merle wraps his arm around Daryl in a headlock, before Daryl pushes him away.

 

“Pfft. Like you ever worked a day in your life.”

 

Merle chuckles, and tosses the crudely drawn map into Daryl’s lap. He picks it up and sighs, looking around him to get his bearings.  Without another word he pulls away from the curb.

 

0o0

 

They pull up, and the cabin was just as Daryl thought it would be. It looked like any number of cabins he’d been in.  The only exception was that it was surrounded by the tallest damn trees he’d ever seen. They loomed over him, taller still now that he was up close.  The air around the place was still, almost eerily so, but the smell of the evergreens trumped any uneasiness he was feeling.

 

Stepping inside, he was mildly shocked at its appearance. This wasn’t a hunter’s cabin; this was more of a flophouse.  A torn red couch was up against the wall.  The floor was littered with empty beer cans and cigarette butts.  There was a fireplace and next to it was a birdcage, although there was no bird in sight.  There was a simple kitchenette on one end, but it hardly looked used. He also noticed a few girlie magazines thrown about, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a used condom next to the couch.

Merle gave a low whistle as he paced around. “Looks like we missed the party.”

 

Daryl grimaced and looked at Merle incredulously.  “I’m gonna grab our shit.” He stepped outside, and was grateful for the fresh air.  Granted, he was used to living in shitty conditions, but laying his head on a semen soaked couch crossed the line.

 

Walking to the truck bed, it occurred to him that the crunch of his boots was the only sound.  No birds, no breeze, no nothing.  His eyes darted around, looking, waiting for something that would explain this silence. Not finding anything, he went to grab the two duffle bags.

 

Turning around, there’s a set of red curtains held up seemingly by nothing but the trees, waving in the nonexistent wind-

_aruaL rof etal oot s’tI. .egdoL eht ot reh sllac boB .reh evaS_

Dropping the bags, his eyes don’t leave the curtains.  They’re there, clear as day.  The temperature seems to have dropped twenty degrees, but he doesn’t move. This is wrong. Very, very fucking wrong. He knows he needs to turn around and get Merle _and get the fuck out of here_. His instinct is to run. There’s a fear in him that is different from the fear of his father’s belt, of Merle’s fist, of the law, of his mother’s ghost.  This is a primal fear.

 

And the moment he blinks, it’s gone.  He releases his breath and looks around.  There’s nothing that would indicate a pair of fucking curtains, and (a voice?) was there a moment ago.  He isn’t certain it’s a voice, but it was _something_.   He goes in the direction of where they were, but there’s nothing.  A huckleberry bush, and of course, those huge fucking trees.

 

He doesn’t do coke like his brother, and he hadn’t had a drink all day. But he’s not for certain fucking sure he saw what he saw.  He goes back, and reaches for the bags, and hesitantly turns his back to make for the cabin door.

 

Reaching for the doorknob, his muscles tense and he chances a look behind him. There’s still nothing, and he uses that to try to calm his nerves.

 

Stepping inside, he wants to tell Merle.  Maybe not exactly what happened, but something.  But Merle is splayed out on the couch, muttering and chuckling to himself.  Great. He’s on something, and Daryl hopes whatever it is, it’ll wear off soon.

 

Sighing, he crouched down to start a fire.  Once it was going, he eased himself onto the floor, and began cleaning a crossbow, a weapon he told himself he brought because he wanted to take any opportunity he could to hunt. And knowing Merle, it could at least come in handy for intimidation purposes.

 

The low moaning coming from the couch told Daryl that Merle was coming out of whatever fog he was in.  He watched as his brother swung his legs to the floor and straightened up.

 

Merle coughed, “C’mon.  Let’s go find us a drink.”

 

0o0

 

The Roadhouse looked like any honky tonk where he was from. Lines of motorcycles were parked near the entrance, along with a few cars here and there.  Stepping inside it wasn’t quite what they were used to back home, but it sure welcoming enough.  It was smoky and dim.  But, instead of country there was more jazz music.  Daryl thought he had never heard so much jazz in his life.  He took a deep breath, and followed Merle to the bar. Despite it being Friday, it wasn’t too busy.

 

They both leaned over the bar, waiting for the waitress to take notice.

 

“ ’Least this place aint fulla weirdos.”  Merle looked around at the booths and the dance floor. “Startin’ to wonder if there weren’t no normal folk ‘round here.”

 

“ ‘S just like any other place.”  Daryl knew he wouldn’t tell Merle what he had seen. No matter how real it was, he just couldn’t stand to hear his ribbing in the matter.

 

“ ‘Ey!  Down here, hot stuff!” Merle leaned even further onto the bar and smiled at the bartender.  She rolled her eyes, but kept smiling as she made her way down the bar.

 

“Yeah? You thirsty?”  The big-busted brunette smiled back and leaned over, almost face to face with him.

 

“Whooo, girl.  I am _parched_.  What’choo got on tap?  Don’t want none of that fruity microbrew shit.”

 

She laughed and poured a two Pabsts.  Merle smiled again, and his eyes followed her departure. “Mmmhmmm.  They make ‘em just as good this far north.”

 

Daryl didn’t answer, his gaze on their surroundings.  Nothing struck him as different from any other bar, but the underlying feeling of fear kept his vigilance up.  He chugged his beer quickly and turned around, setting his glass on the bar.  He knocked on it a couple times to get the bartender’s attention again.

 

“Lettin’ loose, eh Darylina?  ‘Bout time.” He clapped Daryl on the back, “Let’s go have some fucking fun.”  With that Merle wandered off, seemingly going for a table full of drunken women.

 

Daryl ordered a double shot of Jack, and downed it as quickly as he had the beer.  He was waiting for the pleasant buzz to form, but the apprehension he was feeling seemed to shield the effects of the alcohol.  He turned around, but this time the bartender read his mind, and she held up the bottle of Jack in question.  He nodded, and she poured another double.

 

He took a sip this time, when a giggle caught his attention. He looked behind him, and on the dance floor was Beth, the waitress.  She was dressed in a plaid skirt and sweater.  She was clinging to a boy in a high school letterman jacket. She giggled again, and the glass she held was slipping from her fingers.  Her eyes were half closed, and the boy holding onto her was slipping his hand up her sweater.

 

The fear Daryl had carried around with him since the cabin had turned into rage.  Good ol’ Dixon rage. His hand tightened around the tumbler of booze.  Maybe that was her boyfriend?  Hell, he couldn’t get mad, he didn’t even know this girl.  But what did that crazy log lady say?  That she needed help?  That she was in trouble?

 

This wasn’t his business, and they’d be outta there in a few days time. He swiveled around on his stool to face the bar.  Lighting a cigarette, he told himself he didn’t’ care, and it was none of his business.

 

“Bobby! No, no!  I think…I think I should go home.”  Beth’s voice stood out again, and this time Daryl didn’t want to ignore it.  Facing them, Daryl could see this Bobby kid’s hands riding up her skirt.  Boyfriend or not, this girl said no.  Downing the last of his drink he made his way to the dance floor.

 

“Girl said no, man.”

 

Bobby turned around, baffled.  “Who...who the fuck are you?  Get lost.” He turned his attention back to Beth, who looked almost asleep.

 

Daryl grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.  “Get your hands off the girl,” he growled. Wide eyed, the kid shoved a half conscious girl at him.

 

“Whatever, man.  She’s not mine.” Bobby took a few steps back, still looking at Daryl.  “Come on, Jimmy. Let’s get out of here.”

 

Daryl eyeballs him, until it’s clear he’s gone.  Realizing that Beth was beside him, he clears his throat and looks around for his brother.  He’s nowhere to be seen, but he can take of himself.

 

“C’mon.” He waits for her to take the lead towards the door before following her. She’s sorta stumbles, but never loses her balance.  Once outside, he looks around, trying to identify which car is hers.

 

“I’ll drive ya home.  Which one?” He nods to the cars in the lot, all now covered in dew from the night air.

 

Beth blinks and does a half turn, squinting in the dark. “My dad’s…it’s uh…it’s a Bronco.”  She digs in her purse, presumably feeling around for the familiar jingle of keys. She stops suddenly when it occurs to her, “Wait, who’re you?  I’ve never seen you before.”

 

Daryl spots the Bronco and pulls her towards it by her elbow, the least intimate place he can think of.  “Seen you at that diner, “ he says.

 

She stops short and smiles.  “Oh yeah! You didn’t eat any of your pie. I remember you. You should really try it, Norma bakes them fresh every day.”  She goes back to digging around her purse.  “What’s your name, anyway?”

 

He looks at her while she’s still fumbling around.  “Daryl.  You got them keys?”

 

“I can’t find them.  My dad’s going to kill me.”  She looks at him frightened, all big blue eyes.

 

Daryl looks into those eyes, and his minor annoyance at her fades. He’s about to offer her a ride his truck when a car pulls up near them.  They both look over, and Daryl finds a white-haired man driving a convertible. The top is down, which Daryl finds strange.  It’s not raining currently, but the air is still damp and there’s a breeze.  He hears Beth curse under her breath.

 

The man smiles at her.  “Beth Greene? What’re you doing out here?” Beth matches his smile, and she attempts to straighten her posture.  She clears her throat, “Mr. Palmer! I..I, um.  My car died.  My car died, and so Daryl here is helping me.”  She looks up to Daryl, hoping he’ll corroborate, and it occurs to him that when she said ‘classmate’ earlier she meant _high school_ classmate.

 

The man’s smile never waivers and his body is rigid. “Do you need a ride, sweetheart?”

 

“Um, no thanks, Mr. Palmer.”  She takes a step toward her car, when both her and Daryl freeze as the man in the car bursts into tears.  It’s not silent weeping, or quiet sobs- it’s all out wailing.  The two of them can’t help but stare, both transfixed at the sight. Daryl doesn’t know how long he watches this man crying in his car before a sedan pulls next to him. The woman in the car screeches out, “ _LELAND_!” at the driver, and Daryl takes this as a cue to get the fuck out of there.

 

He grabs Beth’s wrist and pulls her in the direction of the truck, all the while listening to the woman yelling his name over and over again.

 

“I’ll take you.  Aint supposed to be here anyways.”

 

Beth furrows her brows at him, “What?”

 

“Aint you in high school?  The fuck you doin’ at a bar?”

 

Beth stops short at his words, “They don’t care.  It’s none of your business anyway.  I’m 18.”

 

“18 aint 21.”  He opens the driver’s side door and it creaks open.  He stands there, waiting on her to open the door.  He can’t quite work out why it riles him so much that she’s there. He doesn’t even know this girl, but there’s an ache building in his stomach.  It’s an ache that propels him to keep her near. 

 

Her face softens a bit as she yanks open the door.  As they drive, she gives him brief directions. Daryl doesn’t ask, but she tells him that the man and women causing a scene at the bar were the murdered girl’s parents.

 

She bounces around the cab as they drive along, “Anyway, her dad’s been acting really weird, you know- _after_. I guess I can’t blame him though.” She looks at him, “Where are you from anyway?  I probably shouldn’t have gotten in the car with someone I don’t even know.”

 

Daryl shrugs, “Georgia.”

 

“Just turn right here, “ she says.  He does, and she points to which house is hers.  He leaves the truck running as she unbuckles her belt and takes a piece of gum out of her purse.  “My dad’s probably asleep, but he can’t know I’ve been drinking,” she says as she motions to the gum wrapper.

 

Daryl shrugs again.

 

She hesitates before opening the door, “Hey, um thanks.” She waits for him to look at her before continuing, “You gonna stop by the diner again?  Maybe actually eat, you know?”

 

The only response he can muster is a nod.  She smiles before shutting the metal door, and bounces up the stairs to her house.

 

He sits for a moment to gather himself, to strip away at his feelings, hoping to explain why he felt compelled to help this girl. He’d seen that same scenario plenty of times in his life, turning out way worse, and he hadn’t intervened. He runs a hand over his face. He felt too tired to really delve deep enough to come up with a plausible explanation, so he turned the truck around and made his way down the road, back to the bar and Merle.

 

He’s still lost in his thoughts enough to not even notice a black convertible driving past him in the opposite direction.

 

 oooooo

 

 

 

_The curtains are red, the floor black and white.  Walking through, there’s no end.  Three chairs. The FBI agent. A blonde girl-_

_not beth-_

_A small man. The small man whispers to the girl, who laughs.  They all turn to look at him._

_aruaL ekil skool ohw eno ehT, the small man says to him as he looks to the girl._

_He snaps his fingers._

_reh mialc lliw boB_


End file.
